A Finished Thoug—

I just want to sit on the edge of my bed, hair wet, scrolling my phone, wrapped in a towel,

the shower was nice, though I couldn't stay in there forever.

I hear a cry from the baby's room, awake from her nap, you should probably get her,

and yet another little voice, "I'm hungry," it says from a distance,

that voice will only get louder, more persistent if you don't offer a snack right this instant!

"I just need to get dressed," I yell back, to whoever cares to listen.

I rip off the towel, skip the lotion, fumble for some clothes...curse these children.

A few moments of peace lost again, these days it's almost too much to plot.

The baby cries louder, the other one still hungry, I can't even finish a thoug--

I trip over a ball, don't make eye contact with the basket of laundry or the stain on the wall.

Baby out of the crib, change the diaper god it's smelly.

Give her a little tickle to hear the giggle, kiss the belly.

Baby perched on my left hip, grabbed the package of cookies, pour the milk, all with one hand.

I deliver the snack, god forbid he dies of hunger according to his cries and demands.

The rest of the day, the week, and the month are similar. I say to myself, it's really not a lot.

Don't look at me like that, I say to the neglected basket of laundry, I can't even finish a thoug--

I trip over the same ball, of course, there is still a stain on the wall.

Hop in the shower to get out of my head,

I just want to sit, hair wet, wrapped in a towel, scrolling my phone,

on the edge of my bed.